


Like when the dream no longer needs its dreamer

by pelinal



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 20:55:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14553342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelinal/pseuds/pelinal
Summary: It always bothered me how pelinal gives u the exact same speech in Kot9 no matter whether or not yr an elf...heres my abstract take(Feat my char., Oten Jororin, Divine Crusader but not Hero of Kvatch or anything else)





	Like when the dream no longer needs its dreamer

She meets the Whitestrake once, and only once; the gods raise her into the cloud-soaked fringes of Aetherius, higher than the White-Gold, and his specter greets her there.

Without another thought, she removes her shoddy iron helmet and takes a knee; he motions for her to rise.

"You are an elf," says Pelinal, quite calmly. She thinks of the Song, of the rage which once compelled the Star-Made Knight to kill the world in whole. The gods themselves trying to hold it back as trying to stem a waterfall with their hands. Where has it gone?

"I am Oten Jororin, and I have the blood of the Slavemasters withal. I come to you without pretense."

"And yet you seek to mantle that which was mine. I killed your kind until I could not see for blood."

"I know. I plan to lay the last Ayleid to rest and bring you your peace, my liege, if I can."

"My peace." Jororin's heart skips a beat as the knight removes his own helmet, the ghostly impression of his long, white hair flowing free in the windless sky.

"You were not well. Your mind was yours but in lucid moments. Would you deny it?"

"I would not. Although you are a presumptuous elf to speak so."

"Ages have passed. It has been thousands of years since the Whitestrake walked the soil of Cyrodiil."

"And longer than that, Oten Jororin. We approach the beginning of the cycle. I am powerless to do but trust that you are a new sort of Ayleid."

"I read once that there were rebel Ayleid kings among the armies of the Paravant."

"Would you have counted yourself such a one?"

"Yes, were I forced to rebel. I cannot convince myself that all my people would not do as the Ayleids have done, given the chance."

"There will always be Slavemasters, Jororin Oten. The dream returns when freshly forgotten."

"Then would you kill me here, if you could?"

"I have no rage left. I am at long last a perfect machine." The Pelinal dons his helmet once more. "I will show you my shrine, if you would see it. I pray that you excise Umaril from the Aurbis as I did not."

Jororin feels the world sink. "Who gave you your name?" she shouts, desperately, as the air thickens.

Pelinal whispers, though his voice is in her mind just the same. "It was not my choosing, nor that of the elves. My name was always decided."

"And who was Huna to you?"

"He was to me—those few. . .precious. . .varliant instants you spoke of. As the Aetherial light gazes with a thousand thousand eyes into Mundus. Goodbye, Oten Jororin, Ayleid-not."

She awakens with her hand in the water.

**Author's Note:**

> Its 4am dont hold me accountable


End file.
